how to have a ridiculously sexy (but classy) airport kind of hug

You haven’t seen your husband (sub for wife, partner, etc. of your choice) for like two weeks. Twelve days and seven and a half hours to be exact, but who’s counting? It’s been a long few weeks. You miss him. You’ve been replaying the moment where you get to see him again. Over, and over in your mind.

His plane touched down. You know this because you’re stalking the airport arrival screen at the airport like the fat kid and the ice cream truck. You also subscribed to flight status notifications and have been checking it all day, more than Facebook.

Arrived.

This means he’ll make his appearance very soon. I wonder how long it will take him to go to the bathroom? I hope he doesn’t stop for a snack or anything.

Like at a concert when the lights go off, everything is quiet. Your mind is quiet. You quickly scan everyone’s faces as they glide down the red carpet of airport arrivals.

You spot him.

Smile.

Sigh.

You meet him halfway. Drop your bags and throw your arms around him, breathing in the scent of his neck. Like musk and marshmallows. For 30 seconds you’re the only two people in the universe, and the only two that matter.

Right now.

Some people dread the airport. They haaate it. I get it. It’s easy to complain about pushy people in the Southwest open seating line, delays, diversions, and the the never-ending fun of the comedy routine that is the TSA security check point.

If this sounds like you, I invite you to shift your focus to another part of the airport – the arrivals. 

In the airport arrival “holding” area, where people anxiously await the arrival of someone they love, and miss the crap out of, they all look happy, hopeful and totally present.

They carry flowers.

They brush their hair.

They’re wearing lip gloss.

And deodorant.

 

They’re focused.

In that split second, when they catch a glimpse of the special person they were waiting for.

What happens next is magic. And the most fun to watch. When I was at the airport a few weeks ago picking up my sister, I happily told her I’d get there early and would wait inside for her – so I could airport-hug-watch!

Hugs that are vise-grip tight, like a squeeze of the $30 bottle of face cream you refuse to waste a drop of.

Eyes closed, won’t let go.

Face grabbing kisses (save the French kiss for later, s’il vous plaît.)

Compliments. You look soooo goooood!

There’s so much joy in the arrivals area, maybe airports should share the arrival love in the departures area. Maybe the departures could stream a live feed of the arrivals, instead of the news.

Delayed another 30 minutes? Watch these people hug the shit out of each other. Warm fuzzies.

What if when the love of your life comes home tonight you surprised them with an airport kind of greeting?

Well, they might wonder what’s wrong with you. Or worry about what you did. If Ryan did this to me, I’d wonder if there was a new Harley in the garage, or a new animal on it’s way.

Weirdness aside, I promise, if you try it, you’re making a bold move. You’ll put yourself out there. And you know what? You’ll be okay.

Today, greet someone you love like you’re having an airport reunion, just for the hell of it.

 

play with your edge

 

In yoga class as I teeter in half moon pose, balancing my body weight on my right leg and right hand, both stretched out straight while pushing to get my left leg parallel to the floor and my left arm towards the sky. If I lean too far back, I’ll fall over. Negotiating the space between stretch, balance and pushing myself, looking awkward as hell.

“Find your edge.” I hear the cheery yoga instructor say. “Play with it”.

I played with it, and fell over a few times. I learned how far I can lean before falling. I found my half moon edge.

Fast forward about eight months. I read this article, Marching off the edge of the map the day after I thought I was going to fall off mine. Perfect timing.

A few weeks ago Ryan and I were lucky enough to take a kid-free vacation to the ultimate adult playground – Las Vegas. A bunch of us had plans to hop on a Harley and ride through the desert. By hop on a Harley I mean me tentatively climbing on the back, and putting my life in Ryan’s hands.

Having only been on the back of a bike no more than a dozen times, I was nervous.

It didn’t help I was (barely) handling more emotions than I knew what to do with. Travel began at 3am, all you can drink mimosas, and having to put down Wesley, my dog of 11 years over the phone. All by 10am.

The first time we rented a bike in Vegas I hung onto Ryan in a full body vise grip. I used all my strength to hold on for dear life with every inch of my body. I gripped his legs with my thighs, his back with my abs and his chest with every inch of back, shoulder and arm muscle. I squeezed so hard I shook.

Unreasonably scared? Maybe.

I survived.

We picked up the bike the next morning after breakfast and headed straight for Red Rock canyon. We opted for the 13-mile, one way, 35 mph max ride through the park. A perfect day and a slow ride with breathtaking scenery to warm up. In awe of the gorgeous scenery, I tapped Ry on the shoulder and yelled, “I need to live in the mountains!”

Friday was the big ride day. We decided to hit Hoover Dam before heading to the Laughlin River Run bike rally after fueling with high-octane from Starbucks.

What’s a bike rally you ask? Thousands of bikers, mostly men, loud rock music, beer, (no cider, WTF!? Does gluten not bother bearded, biker men?) and more t-shirts than the Gap for sale. No be-dazzler was spared in the making of the women’s t-shirts.

The dam was a 45 minute, easy ride from the strip. We got off the bikes to take in the sights, and try very hard not look down over the edge and quell my unreasonable fears of falling over the edge.

dam bridge

dam bridge

There’s a HUGE bridge that arches over the dam. With a warning today: High winds, high profile vehicles not advised. Oh crap. I seriously contemplated walking across the bridge and waiting for Ry to ride across. Ry laughed and told me to buck up.

After taking some dam selfies, we hopped back on the bike and headed towards Laughlin, but not before we had to cross…. the dam bridge.

We approached the bridge. I lowered my head just barely peeking my right eye over Ry’s right shoulder and being careful not to look down. I looked straight ahead, and held my breath. I almost fell off my edge right there. In my head I envisioned falling right over the side rails and plummeting to my death. With the bike landing on top of me to seal the deal.

We made it the other side. It felt like 10 minutes, it was probably 20 seconds. I survived. I can do this. I can do hard things. New edge found. Until…..

The next 100 miles made the bridge feel like a walk in the park for my nerves.

I had no idea we’d be riding IN the actual mountains. Update: I no longer want to live in the mountains. I want to live near them so I can look at them.

Every winding turn of the hundreds of turns we took that afternoon, we took at 60 mph, with me screaming at Ry, “SLOW DOWN“, the wind hammered me and wanted me to flip backwards off the bike.

Every turn we made, the only thing holding me on this planet was a rail. Beyond that rail was a big ass drop. I can’t tell you how high though, because if I looked, I’d barf.

I gripped Ry SO hard that my engagement ring sliced my finger open, there was blood. I was squeezing THAT hard.

About 40 miles away from Laughlin, NV, one rider was running low on gas.

YESS!!!!

I needed a break. I got off the bike, and ran with wobbly legs to find a place to lie down. I laid down, closed my eyes, and continued to shake. Trying rather unsuccessfully to gather myself.

I seriously contemplated renting a car to drive the rest of the way. As if there’d be a budget car rental just down the street in the middle of nowhere.

40 miles left, I can do this.

We made it. I played with my edge all day. Dangerously, uncomfortably close to my edge.

Found it. Right over there.

A few years ago I would have told you I will never get on the back of a motorcycle. Look at me now!

Where’s your edge?

What one event pushed you so far out of your comfort zone you thought you’d puke?

 

11 ways to an unfussy inbox

 

 

Inbox zero. Zilch. Nada. Big fat goose egg.

This how I like my inbox. With no emails that need my attention.

I love email. I love reading emails, I love writing them. I love finding the right words to say something with care, and writing nasty emails then deleting them…just to get the angst out. Never send a nasty email!

Ryan’s Gmail inbox at this moment: 175 unread emails.

175!!! It doesn’t seem to stress him out though, so I guess it works for him. He also only reads probably 1 of every 10 emails I send him.

If I opened my inbox to 175 emails I’d promptly slam my laptop shut and run for the hills.

In other words, I’d totally lose my shit. 

Regardless of your email “type”; inbox zero, or inbox who the hell knows, here’s some of my favorite tips to unfuss your inbox and get back to life, and have fun playing in your email sandbox.

These also go against most “conventional” email productivity advice. Screw em':

 

  1. Check your email when you want.  Many experts recommend checking once or twice a day. I like email. I enjoy connection. Someone took the time to arrange some letters for me and send them along on the interwebs. Check email when it feels right for you. If checking once a day makes sense on the weekend, do it. 10 times a day during the week, go for it. If you’re stressing about not looking at your email, you’re missing the point.
  2. Respond when you want.  If you just got an email from Bradley Cooper asking you to escort him to his latest premier, sure, respond right away. For everything else that doesn’t require an immediate response, take your time. Building a reputation as someone who responds to email right away will come back to haunt you. Flag emails that need responses and get to them when you can, or when you want to.
  3. Delete. Delete. Delete. If it doesn’t require a response, for the love of wine and chocolate, and all things holy. Just delete it. You’re not hurting anyone’s feelings.
  4. File or delete. If I don’t need an email right away, create an appropriate folder and file it. You may need to rename and organize folders from time to time. If you don’t need it. delete it. If you need it, flag it. Once you’ve dealt with it, delete it. Embrace delete. Delete is your unfussy friend handing you a frosty margarita.
  5. Auto reply is impersonal. If you check your email once or twice a day, setting up auto reply letting writers know this is a nice thing to do, but not necessary. I don’t like them because I find them impersonal and annoying. Oh, thanks for messing up my inbox zero. Just respond when you can and skip the auto reply. If you take a long time to respond, most people will assume you’ve got other stuff going on.
  6. Unroll.me. The greatest email tool ever for managing subscriptions ever.  I love reading the latest blog posts from my favorite bloggers, and checking the latest Southwest flight sale or Target coupons, but to be barraged with them ALL DAY LONG? Ain’t nobody got time for that!
    Unroll Me sends ALL your newsletter subscriptions (you pick which ones) in one tidy little daily email so you can read them all at once.  Plus an easy unsubscribe button to manage all your opt-ins in one place. Easy unsubscribe? Yes, please.
  7. Be stingy with newsletter subscriptions. Unsubscribe from everything or don’t look at them for a week. Go on a news diet. If what you’re reading is not helpful, inspiring or informative, unsubscribe.
  8. Unsubscribe, please. When you unsubscribe, sometimes there’s a text field to indicate why you’re opting out. Don’t be a jerk face. Say you love the emails, and will follow along on Facebook, you’re just cutting down on emails. It will make someone’s day better, I promise.
  9. Template that shit. If you find yourself typing the same thing over and over, create a template so you don’t have to retype the whole thing. I like to save mine in Evernote.
  10. Walk away. If you’ve been slaving over an email for an irrational amount of time trying to find just the right words. Step away, have a snack, cut your toenails, take a walk (yes, in that order). You’ll gain some much needed clarity to finish that baby up with finesse and get on with your day.
  11. Quality counts. On project teams I’ve been affectionately known as the quality guru. I say affectionately, but I really mean annoyingly. I secretly love it. Early in my career, a former boss once told me, “you’re too good at too many things to be bad at this.” Hello wake up call. And hello quality control checklists and me annoying people with, “did you give this a self review?”.
    You are not incompetent for asking for a second set of eyes on an important email. Exactly the opposite. You get respect for caring enough.

 

What would you add to this list?

 

 

 

 

 

11 things I no longer believe about the corporate world

JacquelineFisch

Maybe your parents had a blue collar job, or they were artists, or veterinarians, or veterans. Maybe they thought corporate America is the root of all evil, the devil, or everything that is wrong with the world.

This is a cop out.

Even if you’re more inclined for work in a start-up or the creative world, you can still do corporate. I’ve spent over 10 years “in it”, and figured out how to make it work, and even thrive.

Here’s 11 things I used to believe about the corporate world:
  1. Working more than 40 hours will get you ahead. Working long hours means something is wrong, either with staffing or your efficiency, figure out the holes. That will get you ahead.
  2. Quantity over quality. Focus on the task at hand so you produce quality work that requires little to no rework will make everyone happier.
  3. Corporate America is evil. This is an easy judgment to make. It’s not evil, it provides you all the things.
  4. It’s your identity. Having interests outside of work will make your work better.
  5. All corporations suck. They don’t. Keep your eye open for good ones, I did.
  6. You have to say YES to everything. If you respect your boundaries, other’s will too. Having the guts to say you’re not the right person for the job is better than cobbling your way through something that doesn’t align with your goals.
  7. You need to be the first one there and the last one out. See #1, if you’re at work this long, something is off. Have a life outside of the office.
  8. Working through lunch is essential. Taking a break, even if it’s too cold to go outside, just walk around, visit some colleagues or stare out the window. You’ll come back to work with new ideas.
  9. Sitting with a problem until I figure it out is the only way. There’s a better way, do something else, take a creativity break – listen to music, take a walk, doodle, write a poem. Solutions present themselves in the shower, remember?
  10. I need a mentor. A mentor is a great thing to have and can provide oodles of inspiration, but forcing someone to fit into the mentor role who isn’t quite right for you isn’t doing anyone any favors.
  11. There’s no room for creativity. I used to think that creative and work were two separate beasts. Creativity was stuff you did in your spare time, if at all. I learned that creativity breeds innovation at work, find a way to marry the two.

What do you no longer believe about the corporate world?

 

Un-random ways to make someone’s day better

 

I was am a literal person. The song,

Every day, every day, every day, every way, This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.
This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.
This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.
Let it shine, all the time, let it shine.

 

I thought this song was about a literal light, a flashlight or a light bulb.

What if random acts of kindness weren’t so random? What if we planned them?

What if you made the intention to commit one random act of goodness once a day, a week, a month?

Would that raise the stakes, so all of us would be more likely to become recipients of intentional acts of kindness?
The random part of the act makes us feel like we’re detached from it. Random feels impersonal, like a lottery ticket, or finding a fiver on the sidewalk. Like that half smile you give people when you’re not sure about someone.

When you reach out with your wallet, an apple, or a hand, you’re actually committing a personal, and intentional act of kindness.

It’s not random.

Random is a happy accident. Maybe we can all expect to be recipients of intentional acts of kindness. Share your intentional kindness, expect kindness, and get kindness.

I like to leave whatever situation I encounter in better condition than when I found it. This can apply to a meeting, a restaurant, a train, a highway, the world.

The energy you bring to a space can be a source of light or a source of darkness for others. Don’t hold back, let your light shine.

In any of the opportunities where you meet people, you have a chance to impact their day. You can either make it better or make it worse.

Here’s some ways to make someone’s day better:

  1. Leave paper towels handy for the next potty-goer to conveniently dry their hands in the washroom
  2. Pay for coffee for the person behind you
  3. When a stranger is caught with an expired train ticket, offer one of yours (this literally just happened as I was writing this)
  4. As someone is paying for parking at a machine – stick your credit card in and pay for their parking.
  5. Put change in a parking meter
  6. Write a thank you note, on paper
  7. Leave little notes of love or encouragement everywhere you go – tucked into a tip for the Starbucks barista, in library books, in cash you hand the homeless, on trains, on planes, at the gas pump… the opportunities are limitless
  8. Put toothpaste on your spouse’s toothbrush, ready to go in the morning
  9. Warm up your spouse’s towel in the dryer while they’re in the shower
  10. Hold a door
  11. Leave an unexpectedly generous tip
  12. Give a random stranger a gift from their Amazon list
  13. Write a poem, give it to someone
  14. Leave grocery store coupons on the shelf (bonus if you leave them with the product the coupon is for)
  15. Write down all the kindness you experience – I promise it’ll blow you away
  16. Offer public praise of your waiter, barista, or anyone who offered great service
  17. Send a card, and not on a holiday (bonus if you make it yourself)
  18. Talk to a homeless person, or at the very least, smile and say hello
  19. Say thank you
  20. Smile, to everyone

Have you been the recipient of an intentional act of kindness? How about a giver? What did you give? Share your story.

photo courtesy of joaomalaquias.wordpress.com

photo courtesy of joaomalaquias.wordpress.com

 

3 love notes

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Matching tats to celebrate 9 years

 

This Valentines’ Day, Ry and I will be celebrating our 11th wedding anniversary. 11 years of adventure, moving, kids, animals, ups, downs and sideways.

I’ll save the [express] courtship story for another day, today I want to talk about letters, love letters.

We’re married today because of a few words scribbled on paper in just the right order.

 

 

 

Our story…

I was living in Canada, Ry in the Catskills of New York [we met in Florida, again, more on this encounter another time]. It was October and he was flying up for a weekend rendezvous. I had booked us a hotel room downtown Toronto, in the busy Yonge and Queen area. My plan was to pick him up from the airport and head into the city for some catching up over good food and wandering around the city.

My plan was to leave work a few hours before his flight arrived and leave a little surprise for him in our room. That surprise was a hundred[ish] small sticky notes. Each one had a hand scribbled note containing reasons why I loved him.

 

We had been dating long distance five months by now. It was a bold move, a big gesture, and definitely out of my comfort zone. Something else spurred me into action; I had a feeling this was going to be “the” weekend.

I checked into the hotel, navigated my way to the room, and plastered the little yellow love notes ALL OVER. On light switches, on the floor, on lamps, on the phone, the mirrors, desks, I might have even put one on the toilet.

 

Making a big gesture like this made my heart flutter with what I think was excitement. Then I started getting cold feet. I’d never done anything like this before. What if he thought it was stupid? What if he laughed? What if he thought it was too much, too soon?

 

Oh well, it’s done now. I sure as hell wasn’t going to clean up all those notes! As I left the room, I looked around, feeling like HOT SHIT. I was gonna blow his mind. I smiled, turned the lights off, quickly walked down to my car, and sped off to YYZ.

 

A scene that always makes my eyes well up is watching lovers reunite at the airport. These are the people looking like they’re ready to explode carrying flowers or balloons and watching the gate doors intensely for their person to walk through.

 

Ry came through the door, looking exhausted, a little distracted but excited to see me. He wrapped me up in his huge arms with the best bear hug. With my American boy on my arm, we headed back to the hotel.

 

I was excited for the weekend. Our weekends together were always carefree, and mostly agenda-free. We tried to soak up as much joy from each other as we could before we parted ways for another few weeks.

 

We arrived back at the hotel room. I stuck the plastic hotel key into the slot and held my breath as I waited for that satisfying click of the door unlocking and that little green indicator. For some reason I always feel like I’m getting away with something during that exact moment.

 

This time was even bigger, remember…I was HOT SHIT.

 

I walked into the room first, Ry trailing me. I flipped the lights on as he dropped his bag.

 

I was stunned. Frantic. My heart sank.

 

My eyes quickly darted all around the room. Walking around in utter disbelief, the notes were GONE! All that writing, the anticipation for his reaction, the thought of him collecting and reading each note, one by one.

 

All that love. Shat on.

 

I couldn’t help it… I started to cry.

 

Imagine you’re Ry at this point, he’s totally like, “WTF? What the hell is wrong with this chick?”

 

I didn’t want to tell him why I was upset, but I couldn’t just keep crying for “no reason”. I’m also the worst liar in the world so making something up was out of the question.

 

I spilled it. I told him about the notes, what I wrote, detailing my suspense and excitement. We deduced housekeeping must have turned the room down, and left with my notes.

 

 

 

Disappointed, but determined not to let an overachieving maid ruin our night we headed out for dinner. Ry insisted we make a stop at the front desk first. He told the manager what happened and thanked them for “making his girlfriend cry”. They apologized, but couldn’t really do anything.

 

So we did what we did best – sipped apple martinis and munched on nachos. Eventually after catching up, it was getting late, so we walked back to the hotel.

 

Back in the room devoid of sticky notes, I was still feeling a twinge of sadness. I was getting ready to climb in bed when Ry was in the other room [it was a suite]. He was in there a long time….like a really, really long time. What the hell was he doing?

 

After asking a time or two more, he eventually showed up. Serious-faced and holding some small white pieces of paper.

 

I asked what he was doing in a kind of annoyed, worried, what are you up to, I’m tired and need sleep tone.

 

He spoke, “I wrote you some notes of my own”.

 

Awesome! I love love letters. Having dated long distance we filled in our constant text messaging, emails and phone calls with random cards and letters. Way better than email.

 

He just stood there, holding them.

 

I asked, “Are you going to give them to me?”

 

He hesitated. Stood still in the doorway between the bedroom and the hotel suite. “No.”

 

I was annoyed. Why the hell would you write me something then not give it to me? Don’t waste my time with your silly games, I need sleep.

 

I tried to persuade him, unsuccessfully for a minute or two. I was about to say ‘fuck it’ and go to sleep when he finally handed them over.

 

White knuckled, he had a grip on those babies…they must have been goood….or bad…

 

There were three pieces of hotel notepad paper with some words on them.

 

They read:

  1. I love you…[aww, feeling kinda feeling melty and my right armpit starting to sweat – this totally happens all the time]
  2. I want to spend the rest of my life with you [OH SHIT, is this the big moment? The one girls dream of? Is he really proposing? OMG! OMG! OMG! OMGGGGGG!]
  3. Will you marry me?

 

By now I was crying for the second time that night with my hand over my mouth. Shakily, I looked up, he was now down on the proverbial bended knee and took out the goods [the ring].

 

Holy shit! This is happening, this is real! THAT is a ring! Is it for ME?

 

I think I said the word “yes”. The rest was a blur of squealing and crying and trying to get Ry up off his knees to hug me. He asked, “Did you say yes? I think you did.”

 

Um, YES!

 

After god knows how long, I looked at the ring that was way too big for my finger, but so perfect. So simple. He didn’t even ask what I wanted, he just picked it. Lucky for me he’s got better taste than I do.

 

I felt electric, tingly, and alive. We were getting married.

 

Four months and three days later we stood shakily in front of each other again [partly mostly from celebrating with family and friends too much the night before] and got married.

 

On Valentine’s Day.

 

Cheers to the next lucky 11.

20140718_175801

do I look scared?

 

 

How to say no, with grace

 

For the third day in a row I woke up in the middle of the night. I was worried about a program I had committed to helping write and cook for. I said yes right away. It was a bigger time commitment than I might have realized. The more involved I got, the more I realized what I was working for didn’t line up to my core values.

I worried about how I’d feel keeping my commitment. Would everyone see right through me and know I didn’t want to be there? Could people tell I wasn’t all in?

Isn’t keeping your word supposed to be the most important thing? I said yes, I have to do it…right?

No I don’t.

I don’t have to do anything.

Especially if it gives me this much ick. I can say no. Do I lie? Should I make something up to soften the blow?

I seriously considered it. But there was that ick factor again. I decided to tell the truth. It went something like this…

 

 “I know I said I’d help with [this program]. I’ve taken on more than I can handle right now and I can’t give this program the time and attention I originally planned. I’m going to bow out. I wish you all the success in the world, and if my situation should change I’ll be in touch. Thanks, Jacq”

 

Maybe you have a hard time saying it, maybe you truly want to be helpful and just can’t say no.

Maybe every opportunity that comes through the door just sounds so OH EM GEEE amazing you just can’t help but blurt out YES!

Only to regret it later.

Learning to say no in a graceful way without compromising your values is truly liberating.

This is especially true when you keep it simple and just say “no thank you”. The end. No explanation required. Hello freedom.

Try saying no to the next opportunity, work assignment, request to bake cookies for another fundraiser.

Here’s 9 ways to say it, without being an a-hole, full of truth so you don’t walk away feeling dirty. And because, well, no one like’s an a-hole.

 

  1. No thank you.
  2. Non, merci (because everything sounds better in French, oui?)
  3. Thank you so much for thinking of me. Unfortunately this isn’t the best time for me.
  4. I’d love to come to your event and am so honored you asked me, however it’s not aligned to my current goals (which are….)
  5. This doesn’t feel right for me right now, but please keep me in mind for next time.
  6. Thank you for sharing your love of [fabulous charity/non-profit/cause] with me, it sounds like a great cause/organization. I’ve already allotted my monthly donation, but I will donate to your charity later in the year!
  7. Unfortunately I’m unable to help you, but try these people…..
  8. Thank you for thinking of me, I am spending time this week focusing on [project].
  9. I’m so grateful for the invite. Unfortunately my free time is limited next week/month.

 

 

What doors might open for you if you say no?

Photo courtesy of Joao Malaquias

Photo courtesy of joaomalaquias.wordpress.com

 

 

 

 

Lack Vs. Abundance (and $105 for you)

 

A few weeks ago night I was riding the train home from work, reading a book about money and approaching it from a mindset of abundance and gratitude.  I was a few stops away from home when my phone buzzed. It was an email from Jacob’s teacher.

Subject: Jacob

My stomach turns upside down and inside out when I get any communication with my kids as the subject. Did they drop an F bomb in class? He did just ask us what it means when you stick up just your middle finger. (Oh, Catholic school education), did something happen? Is this going to call for an un-fun conversation?

This email, however made me smile so hard. I read it at least six times before deciding to spreading the cheer. As I read, my eyes welled up as I covered my mouth. Proud mom moment right here.

Here’s the email …

“Hello!

I wanted to let you know about something that happened today.  Jacob presented me with a very nice gift that he was very excited to give me.  As I opened the box I noticed that there were dollar bills and some loose change amongst other things inside.  I asked Jacob why he had given me money and he said it was because he had too much money and he wanted to give me some.  I told him that this was a very thoughtful gift but I could not except his money.  He seemed a little sad when I told him I could not except his gift.   I felt like I broke his spirit.  I explained to him the reason why I could not except his thoughtful gift and I hope that he understood.  He told me that he understood.  I told Jacob that he was a sweet boy and that I felt very special that he was willing to share his nice gift with me.  He did present me with a bracelet that he made out of pipe cleaners which I gladly excepted.  I’m not sure if you were aware of his gifts.  I wanted you to know what happened in case Jacob mentions it.  You have a very sweet little boy. :)”

MELTED!

The night before, Ry and I were having fun with finances. AKA: totaling debt, income, estimating taxes, who to pay first, and making some big decisions. This usually ends up in frustration and someone walking away.  That someone is usually me, and the sentiments that fly around have a general theme of negativity and lack.

The kids weren’t around when we were talking about this, but Jacob’s actions spoke LOUD and CLEAR, like he’d been listening.

I think we can all take a page out of Jacob’s book here and adopt a mindset of abundance instead of lack. Jacob had five single dollar bills, some Canadian Loonies and Toonies (which we all know isn’t worth much lately), and in his mind, $5 was too much money.

I talked to him about it and said if he has extra money he could donate it to a charity, perhaps a children’s charity. I offered to help him find one he feels good about.

He LIT up brighter than our Christmas tree. Before I get to the donation and what I’d love to hear from you I want to point something else out.

I shared the email verbatim on Facebook. It filled me with even more joy to see Jacob’s actions and his teacher’s words FILL UP even more folks with love and feelings of abundance.

Then the grammar police showed up, guns a blazin’.

Negative comments started rolling in about how they hoped this wasn’t Jacob’s English teacher, how sad/scary/expected it was that his teacher didn’t get her grammar right.

THEY WERE MISSING THE POINT!

I mentioned earlier I read the email SIX times, that’s HALF A DOZEN (math whiz right here) and didn’t notice the grammar issue. Did you also know I’m a communications consultant? I get paid money to not do stuff like this and notice stuff like this when others do it.
I didn’t notice the email errors…. why?

  • I was too proud of my son and overflowing with abundance
  • I didn’t give a shit
  • The email was typed on an iPhone

Just like my gripes with the vegan police, the nutritional police and the mommy police, the grammar police are no fun.

In this case, they detracted from the message and distracted other readers from the point.

Don’t get so caught up in dotting your I’s and crossing your pretty little T’s you miss a Christmas miracle.

That’s all I have to say about that.

Now, onto giving brighter things…

I have $105 for your favorite charity 

 

Specifically, children’s ones. Because Jacob wants to give his $5 to a kids’ charity. 

Do you know any?

We haven’t donated Jacob’s $5 yet. Help me pick a charity!

I’ll choose a winner after I do a little research and I’ll donate $105 to the cause. Then I’ll raise my champagne glass to you.

 

Name your charity below, and please tell me why you love them.

I’m not vegan anymore

 

The subject line isn’t intended to be an attention grab. Nor am I writing this to piss you off. This isn’t a proverbial middle finger to vegans, or a “ya, you told me so” to omnivores – I love you, all of you. I’m writing this to talk about change.

We’re constantly changing. Even if we say stuff like, “things never change”, they do. You just have to notice.

Your body has been a constant cyclone of a change machine since the moment you were conceived. Sitting up, rolling over, crawling, walking, baby teeth, no teeth, brown hair, gray hair.

The way you work, the way you eat, the way you talk, how you spend your money, your friends, your thoughts … everything changes.

Always has, always will.

After reading Untethered Soul, something in there made me whip a notebook and pen out of my bag with wild determined force, and start scribbling words like a mad-woman. I riffed about change, life, learning, working, family, and finally…food.

 

We’re supposed to always be changing. We’re designed to change. What does this meeaannnn????

Why should the food I eat stay the same?

Dairy-free, red meat free, then plant-based, then oil-free…

I was rocking along, feeling amazing. Then…BAM! I felt shitty. Though it was less “BAM” and more slowly over time.

Something was off. I was craving oily stuff, I was bloated, and skin was angry at me!

I started cooking with oil again. I put more cooked veggies on my plate and pushed raw ones aside.

It felt OH SO FREAKIN’ good. I doused my veggies with that EVOO, I practically bathed in it!

 

cravings and closet eating

Then I started having wicked cravings for seafood. You know what I used to do?

I’ve never told anyone this before, but when I’d crave seafood, I ate it alone. I was afraid of being judged. I’d sneak some shrimp of the kids’ plate, or indulge in some oysters while sipping champagne.

After a few months of this, I asked myself, why the hell do I have to hide what I eat? So I ate some, and also gave up on guilt.

 

NO GUILT

You know what happened?

  • I became less of a bitch (in my opinion anyway)
  • my skin cleared up
  • my digestion machine revved up
  • My writing TOOK off, I write and consult for a living and awesome copy has been flowing out of my fingertips lately

conscience

Yes, I can’t un-know everything I learned about how flesh gets to my plate. I believe in eating with a conscience.

I had to make the unfussier choice, a new attitude. And you know what’s most important to me?

FEELING GOOD

If you don’t feel good, what the heck is the point?

 

If I feel good, I’m happier, if I’m happier, my family is happier. 

In all my workshops and with clients I always tell them I don’t care what they eat. I’m not judging.

Instead, I was judging myself.

I still don’t want to eat dairy and gluten still give me the farts. I still choose natural products over chemicals and buy cruelty-free when I can.

What’s the point?

So why am I telling you this? What does all this really mean?

  • no more being militant with every ingredient (I think there was cheese in some polenta sticks I had at happy hour)
  • I’m not an Instagram snob anymore! I’ll hit “like” on ALL your food pictures
  • I still like to eat food, mostly plants
  • no more saying “I can’t have that.” That’s not a lot of fucking fun.
  • an unfussier me
  • freedom

I have a theory

We know we need constant change in our routines, ways of thinking and our exercise to keep sharp, to keep our body challenged.

I have a totally unscientific, but a gut-theory, that we need to constantly change up how we eat too.

 

Cheers, from the mostly plant-based, not judging, with a side of seafood, eat whatever the hell you want and be happy, unfussy chick. XO

 

 

And for the love of god, stop letting food rule your life and stop the food shame!

Question for you: Do you have anything to add? Did you used to feel restricted? Do/did you feel you had to hide food? 

 

 

 

 

10 secrets of unfussy cooks

There’s two types of cooks in this world:

A. The stressed out, strung out crazy lady swearing and sweating her ass off while she unsuccessfully juggles bruschetta and brussel sprouts

and

B. The kind that always has a glass of wine when she cooks, dances in the kitchen, and laughs her ass off when she drops a pot of spaghetti on the floor

 

Which one are you? If you chose A., please don’t invite me over for dinner.

If you chose B. read on my friend, and please … share some of your secrets!

 

The 10 secrets of an unfussy cook

  1. If they don’t feel like cooking, they just don’t

  2. They know that good ingredients do all the heavy lifting

  3. They’re prepared to screw up

  4. They very well might be the only ones who like their dish, and that’s ok

  5. They stay intensely present; they might not hear you yammering at them

  6. Deep down they really want to please you

  7. They have a well-stocked pantry so they can whip anything up

  8. They take risks – almond butter with marinara, maple syrup on spaghetti (wait, I’ve been watching ELF too much lately)

  9. They know good conversation, good wine, a simple table setting makes even mediocre food taste amazing

  10. They know to calm the fuck down when cooking for company; no one likes a stressed out host(ess)

 

What are your secrets for CTFD (Calming the Fuck Down) in the kitchen? Who is your favorite host(ess) with the most(ess)? Why are they awesome???